


Let Me Ask You

by ProofOfConcept, wilddragonflying



Series: Collaborations [79]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Porn, Barebacking, Bottom Eliot Waugh, Creampie, Enthusiastic Consent, Fuckbuddies, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Power Bottom, Power Bottom Eliot Waugh, Quickly-Resolved Angst, discussion of sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:21:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22470226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProofOfConcept/pseuds/ProofOfConcept, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: Even after nearly two full years of living in the Physical Cottage, Quentin’s still sometimes astounded by the sheerintensityof the parties - especially when there’s a party to actually celebrate something, like tonight.Tomorrow, the seniors of Brakebills graduate. Tonight, the majority of them are here getting absolutelysmashedunder flickering lights, surrounded by moving bodies and pulsing music.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Series: Collaborations [79]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/41362
Comments: 3
Kudos: 157





	Let Me Ask You

Even after nearly two full years of living in the Physical Cottage, Quentin’s still sometimes astounded by the sheer _intensity_ of the parties - especially when there’s a party to actually celebrate something, like tonight.

Tomorrow, the seniors of Brakebills graduate. Tonight, the majority of them are here getting absolutely _smashed_ under flickering lights, surrounded by moving bodies and pulsing music. 

It’s almost midnight when Quentin finally pulls away from the main crowd, a half-finished margarita in his hand. He loiters by the staircase, letting the music and other sounds of the party wash over him, debating whether he’s ready to head upstairs or not. He closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them again, the first thing he sees is Eliot heading his way. Impeccably dressed as always - though his charcoal grey shirt and burgundy vest are slightly ruffled, and the navy tie that matches his pants has been loosened considerably - Quentin nonetheless knows from the loose sway of his gait, the glint in his gaze as he locks eyes with Quentin, that the glass of Blue Thing in Eliot’s hand is far from his first. But Eliot knows his limits, and Quentin knows that he knows them.

So, Quentin has no problem offering Eliot an easy grin, relaxing against the banister and letting his posture open in an thoughtlessly familiar way. “Bored with the party?” he asks, once Eliot’s close enough to hear him over the music - close enough that Quentin has to shift in place, widen his stance to make room for Eliot all but pressed up against him.

"So bored," Eliot agrees, nosing gently at Quentin's hairline. "You know these things can only hold my attention for so long. Especially when you're all the way over here."

Quentin laughs softly. " _You_ know I can only take so much of these big parties," he counters, letting his free hand fall to Eliot's waist, thumb sliding over the soft fabric of his vest. 

Eliot smiles. "Of course I do," he says. "That's why I came to check on you."

Quentin laughs again, ignores the ache in his chest when he says, "I'm sure that's not the _only_ reason you came over here."

Eliot doesn't even try to protest. "No," he says. He presses his lips to Quentin's temple. "I came over to see if you're ready to ditch."

Quentin hums idly, pretends to think it over like he wasn't ready to ditch the moment he saw Eliot heading his way. "Yeah, I think I'm just about done with parties for tonight."

"Perfect." Eliot gets a hand under Quentin's chin, tips his head back, and ducks in for a long, slow kiss.

Quentin relaxes into it, returns the kiss easily, the hand on Eliot's hip tightening before they finally pull apart with a soft sound. "Let's head upstairs," Quentin suggests, near-breathless. 

Eliot grins against his mouth. "I thought you'd never ask."

They finish their drinks, leave the glasses on a nearby table, and head upstairs all without putting more than an inch of space between them. The party downstairs is still going strong, so Quentin doubts anyone noticed them leaving - but it's not like it would make a difference if they had. Their… _arrangement_ has been an open secret since Thanksgiving break, and Quentin's made his peace with that. Mostly.

They turn towards Eliot's room without discussing it. He hasn't started packing yet, Quentin notes before shoving the thought of Eliot _leaving_ far, far away in the back of his mind. He distracts himself by waiting only long enough for Eliot to close the door before pressing in close, backing Eliot against the door and reaching up to tangle the fingers of one hand in Eliot's hair, his other fisting in the material of Eliot's vest as he pulls him in for another kiss, this one deeper, wetter than the one they shared downstairs. 

Eliot allows it until Quentin tugs on his vest again, and then he pushes him back, laughing. "Grabby," he chides, though he sounds far too fond. "You should know better."

" _You_ shouldn't still be wearing clothes," Quentin complains, although he lets himself be moved easily. "If you get them off, then you won't have anything to complain about."

Eliot is already unfastening the buttons on his vest, his gaze smouldering when he meets Quentin's. "What about you?" he asks. "Don't make me vanish your clothes again."

Quentin makes a face, but reaches for the hem of his own shirt. "I'm still annoyed with you for that," he says, briefly muffled by his shirt as he yanks it over his head. "That was one of my favorite sweaters."

"Do you really want to get into that again?" Eliot asks, amused. He discards his vest and tie, and starts unbuttoning his shirt. "Right now?"

Quentin looks like he _would,_ actually, but then Eliot's shirt is unbuttoned and Quentin sighs. "I guess we have more important things to do," he says, grinning as he slides his hands under Eliot's shirt, curling around his ribs and skimming lower until he can hook his fingers in Eliot's belt loops, pulling him in closer, tilting his head in a silent request for another kiss. 

Eliot grants it with a pleased sigh. It's a slow, burning kiss, but Eliot doesn't let himself get lost in it. His deft fingers make short work of Quentin's belt buckle, and he starts to walk Quentin backwards towards the bed. Quentin goes easily, keeps Eliot close even as he pauses to step out of his pants and help Eliot out of his. "Kinda pushy tonight," he hums. "Not that I'm actually complaining."

"I've wanted you since before the party," Eliot admits, his mouth hot on Quentin's neck. "If I had my way, we never would have made it."

Quentin laughs quietly, without any malice, gasping when Eliot's teeth graze over his pulse. "Miss your own pre-graduation party just to fuck me? Margo would've killed you."

Eliot bites at him. "Which is why I waited this long," he says.

Quentin doesn't bother trying to hide the whine that Eliot's bite elicits. "So what're we doing still standing up?" he asks, breathless. "And talking?"

Eliot grabs Quentin's ass at that, pulls him in even closer until his cock brushes Quentin's abdomen, and then releases him. "Get on the bed."

When Eliot gets a look at Quentin's face, he's not surprised to see that Quentin's irises have all but disappeared. Quentin scrambles to obey, backing up until the backs of his knees hit the mattress and he sits down, hard. Eliot gives him enough time to move a little further back on the mattress before he's on him, swinging one long leg over Quentin's thighs so that he can sit in his lap. His hands are in Quentin's hair a moment later, tilting his head back, and their next kiss is downright _filthy._

Quentin returns the kiss immediately, enthusiastically. His own hands fall to Eliot's waist, following the curve of his skin until he can run one palm up Eliot's spine, the other shifting until he can cover one whole side of Eliot's ass, giving it a slow, eager knead. "This is different," he observes when they part to catch their breath, ducking in to run his lips over Eliot's pulse, sucking too lightly to leave a mark but enough to be felt. 

Eliot shivers against him, and his hips grind down of their own accord. "Yeah," he agrees. "I thought we could try something."

"Something like...?" Quentin hums, breath hitching. 

Eliot rocks back a little so he can see Quentin's face. "I want you inside of me," he says.

Quentin blinks, clearly thrown - but just as obviously interested in the idea. He licks his lips, holds Eliot's gaze as he lets the hand on Eliot's ass drift until he can gently rub the pad of one finger over Eliot's hole just to see what reaction he'll get. "You sure?"

" _Ah._ " Eliot's eyes flutter closed on a sigh, and he bites at his lip. "Yes. It's been a long time, but-- I want it."

Quentin smiles, reaches up to tug Eliot into another searing kiss. "Well, we know we have condoms and lube here," he says when they part. "Let me grab 'em?"

"No," Eliot says, too quickly. His hands flex on Quentin's shoulders. "I mean-- yes, lube, obviously. But, fuck the condoms, maybe?"

Quentin makes a noise like Eliot's suggestion just punched the air out of him. "Fuck the condoms," he agrees, hands falling to Eliot's hips and kneading briefly before he asks, "Can I - I want to get my mouth on you. All of you?"

Eliot's eyebrows shoot up, but his eyes go dark with want. "Yeah," he rasps. "Whatever you want."

Quentin swallows, throat clicking, and he nudges Eliot. “Lie down? I’ll grab the lube.”

Eliot rolls onto his back so that Quentin can get up, and sprawls back against the pillows. After a moment of watching him look through the drawers, he also spreads his legs lazily and reaches down for his own cock.

Quentin finds the lube quickly when he realizes that Eliot's touching himself, dropping the bottle by Eliot's hip as he settles himself between Eliot's legs, leaning in for a brief kiss. "Little impatient, aren't you?"

"Wouldn't you be?" Eliot asks, sighing and arching against Quentin. His hand doesn't stop working between them.

"You know the answer to that," Quentin laughs, reaching for Eliot's hands - both of them - and twining his fingers through Eliot's, bringing their hands up to press into the pillow by Eliot's head. "But if you keep touching yourself, this won't last very long." He presses in for another kiss, nipping lightly at Eliot's lower lip before he starts kissing his way down Eliot's jaw and throat. "Let me."

Eliot shivers beneath him, but his hands stay where Quentin put them. "If you insist."

”I do,” Quentin assures him, nipping at the place where Eliot’s pulse thrums beneath his skin before continuing his journey downward. His lips graze over the thin skin over Eliot’s collarbone before he pauses, clearly debating with himself. After a moment, Quentin glances up, catches Eliot’s eye - and then holds his gaze as he very deliberately lowers himself so that he can close his mouth over one nipple, teeth tugging ever-so-lightly as his hand slides over Eliot’s chest, fingers shifting through his chest hair before he rolls the other nipple between them. Eliot gasps and moans, his chest arching up beneath Quentin's mouth. His fingers scrabble for purchase against the pillows beneath them, but he doesn't reach for Quentin; he just breathes out a plea for _more_.

Quentin gives it to him, takes his time working Eliot up with everything he has until neither of them can stand it anymore, until Quentin pulls away and slides down the bed, down Eliot’s body in one long motion. He settles himself between Eliot’s thighs, pushing them open and up so that he can bare Eliot to his gaze - and then he pauses, looking back up. “Can I?” he asks, almost desperate. It almost physically pains him to wait, to ask, but he needs to be sure that this is what Eliot wants, and habit has him waiting for permission to continue regardless.

Eliot throws his head back and spreads his legs even further. " _Yes._ "

Quentin doesn't waste any more time, immediately ducking his head and setting about his new task. He's still half-kneeling on the bed, a position that is sure to make his back heap abuse on him later, but right now nothing is as important as getting his tongue on Eliot as soon as possible. He doesn't tease, knows Eliot well enough to know that he's not in the mood for that, and instead throws himself whole-heartedly into eating Eliot out. He uses his hands to spread him open, dragging his tongue over Eliot's hole in one long motion before switching to shorter licks, jaw already aching from his enthusiasm as he does his best to work Eliot open with his tongue alone. 

Above him, Eliot just _melts_ into the bed. He lets out a breathy curse, one foot shifting restlessly against the sheets, and then covers his mouth to muffle the soft, desperate moans that start to spill from his lips. After a moment, Quentin pauses - but only long enough to lift his head and say, "You remember we soundproofed the room _ages_ ago, right?" before he resumes his task, letting his fingers come into play now that Eliot's relaxed. He quickly gets distracted again, however, when he realizes that Eliot is _still_ too quiet for his liking. When he redoubles his efforts only to continue getting muffled moans, Quentin finally lifts his head with a huff, reaching up until he can physically tug Eliot’s hand from his mouth. “I want to hear you, El,” he says, raising one eyebrow before dipping his head to drag the flat of his tongue over the head of Eliot’s cock.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Eliot sighs, his cock twitching against Quentin's tongue. "Okay, okay, just _don't stop._ "

Quentin laughs quietly, giving Eliot's hand one last squeeze before he refocuses his attention. Eliot really does make some of the most _beautiful_ noises as Quentin eats him out, and Quentin maybe spends more than a few extra moments just enjoying them before he finally reaches for the bottle of lube. He shifts his mouth to Eliot's cock, sucking it almost idly as he slicks his fingers, strokes some of the excess around the outside of Eliot's hole, and eases one inside, setting up a quiet, patient rhythm as he works Eliot open on his fingers. 

Eliot's noises are different now he's being fingered, but they're no less delightful. He's practically mewling now, his hips moving restlessly like he doesn't know if he wants to rock up into Quentin's mouth or down against his fingers. Quentin is determined to drag this out, pull as many of those sounds from Eliot's lips as he can, but at last Eliot's hand finds Quentin's hair and tugs. When he pulls away to look up into his face, Eliot's eyes are wild. "I'm ready," he says. His chest is heaving. "Please."

Quentin really could spend forever down here - but not when Eliot is looking at him like that, and _certainly_ not when Eliot is looking at him like that and saying _please_ in that fucked-out, raspy voice. "All right," Quentin breathes, easing his hand from Eliot as he shifts up onto his knees, reaches with his other hand for Eliot's, leaning in for a kiss as he spreads what's left of the lube on his hand over his cock, sucking in a sharp breath at the first touch to himself. "How do you want this?" he asks, barely a murmur against Eliot's lips. 

For the first time all night, Eliot hesitates. He looks up into Quentin's eyes, searches his face with something unreadable on his own, but whatever he's looking for he must find because he sighs and says, "Like this."

Quentin knows his eyes widen, but he can't help it - they don't usually fuck face-to-face. The fact that Eliot is asking for it - asking for it _now_ \- makes something in Quentin's chest go tight and hot, and he ducks in for another kiss. "Okay," he murmurs, squeezing Eliot's hand, his other lightly touching Eliot's thigh, encouraging it open enough for Quentin to press in close, guide the head of his cock to press against Eliot's hole. He takes a breath, squeezes Eliot's hand again, and presses forward with a slow, steady roll of his hips. 

The sound Eliot makes then is like it's been punched out of him. His lips part, and almost immediately quirk up into a dazed smile; his eyes flutter closed as he rocks his hips down to meet Quentin's, and when he bottoms out Eliot actually laughs, light and breathless. "Oh god," he says. "Fuck, yes."

Quentin smiles, rocking his hips carefully to pull out just a little before he fucks back into Eliot, squeezing Eliot's hand where their fingers are still tangled together. "Good?" he asks, equally breathless. 

"Good," Eliot breathes. "Q, please--"

"I've got you," Quentin murmurs, pressing in for a kiss as he settles into fucking Eliot with long, slow motions. He squeezes Eliot's hand, reaches up to skim his hand over Eliot's chest, slide up his neck and reach up to brush the hair from his face. He shifts, changes the angle, and - 

"Ah, fuck!" Eliot cries out, arching beneath Quentin and tightening his grip on his hand. "God, yeah, there - don't stop."

Quentin grins, ducking down to drag his teeth over the pulse _pounding_ just beneath the skin of Eliot's neck. "As you wish," he murmurs against Eliot's skin, doing his best to keep the angle even as Eliot writhes beneath his mouth and hand. He can't _not_ touch Eliot in every way that he can, not now, but... 

Quentin blames the frankly mindblowing sex they're having right now for how long it's taken him to realize that Eliot is still holding his hand, no matter how he or Quentin moves, no matter how sharply Quentin makes him cry out with a touch or a thrust. The realization makes Quentin's breath catch, makes the rhythm he's built up falter, and when Eliot looks at him unquestioningly, Quentin breathes out, "Close." It's not a lie, because he is suddenly so much closer to coming than he was before, staggered by the weight of his realization, by the adrenaline rush of every piece of tonight falling into place. But he can't - Quentin can't say anything. Not yet. 

So he does the next best thing and tries to kiss the breath from Eliot's lungs as he backs off of the pace, changes near-frantic thrusts to long, slow rolls that drag the head of his cock over Eliot's prostate, that keep Eliot's cock trapped between their stomachs, hard and leaking. Quentin can't say it, maybe soon but not yet, but he - he can let Eliot know that _he gets it._

Quentin doesn’t know if Eliot gets what he’s trying to show, but he never lets go of Quentin’s hand, and his other never stops moving. His fingers comb through Quentin’s hair, skim down his spine, grip his hip and urge him into a faster pace and pull him closer. Eliot’s hips roll against Quentin, fucking himself back into every thrust. He tosses his head back, hair spilling tangled against the pillow beneath it, and Quentin ducks his head, drags his teeth over Eliot’s collarbone, shifts until he can fit his mouth over one of Eliot’s nipples, reaching over to pinch and tug at the other in tandem with his teeth. Eliot’s breath hitches, his hips stutter against Quentin, and then he comes with a sharp cry, spilling hot and wet between their stomachs.

Quentin lifts his head, shifts until he has both of Eliot’s hands in his, squeezing almost urgently. “I’m - _Fuck,_ ” he swears. “I’m close, I - If you want me to pull out - “

”Don’t,” Eliot breathes, straining up to kiss Quentin before confessing against his lips, “I want to feel you.”

Quentin swears again, but he’s too close to question Eliot further, and he - Well, he wants that, too. He kisses Eliot again, losing all sense of rhythm as he chases his own orgasm. All too soon, Quentin comes, hips stilling against Eliot’s ass as he buries his face in the crook of Eliot’s neck, muffling his groan against the skin there. 

They rest together for several long moments, sweat and come sticking them together as they catch their breath. Eventually, though he would love to stay right where he is, Quentin makes himself move. He squeezes Eliot’s hands before releasing them reluctantly so that he can push himself upright, carefully pull out and cast their usual cleaning spell before he lets himself fall back to the bed, close enough to touch Eliot, to shift onto his side and wrap an arm around Eliot’s waist. Quentin lets himself press in closer than they usually do, lets himself relax against Eliot in a way that they usually don’t. It’s on the tip of his tongue, to say the thing he’s been holding back for a fucking _year,_ but - 

But without the closeness of sex, the false bravery of endorphins, he can’t.

It takes a long time for Eliot to speak, and when he does, he precedes it by laughing softly, breathlessly, against Quentin's temple. "That was amazing," he murmurs.

Quentin can't help his own chuckle. "It was," he agrees, voice as quiet as Eliot's, shifting slightly and letting his arm tighten around Eliot briefly. "It's... a shame you're graduating tomorrow."

Eliot stills beneath him. "Yeah," he says, his voice strange.

Quentin tilts his head so he can look at Eliot, brow furrowed. "El?"

Eliot gazes back at him, his expression tender but just the slightest bit guarded. "What?"

Quentin hesitates, but he forces himself to take a deep breath before asking, voice quiet and just a little bit rough, "Was... Was this goodbye? Stocking up on more good memories?"

Eliot's expression breaks open then, into something anguished. "Q, _no_."

Quentin can't quite meet Eliot's gaze as he points out, "The last time it felt... even remotely like _that,_ after finals last year, you told me that's all it was. I just - I want to... I _need_ to know that wasn't what this was before I say something really stupid that'll make you kick me out."

"All right," Eliot says, "I deserve that." He takes a breath. "I was scared, last year. I knew what it felt like and I knew what it _was_ , and I was scared. I didn't want to mess up what we already had. But, Q, I'm leaving tomorrow and the thought of losing you scares me even more. Maybe it's too late, but I'm ready now."

Quentin hesitates, shifts so that he can prop his chin on his hand, leaning on one elbow so he can look at Eliot more fully. "Ready for what?" he asks quietly. "What we've been dancing around for at least a year? What everyone in the Cottage and half the rest of campus - students _and_ faculty, by the way - have been taking bets on for longer?" His lips quirk into a half-smile, and he searches Eliot's gaze for a long moment before he takes that final step. "I don't want to lose you, either, El. You're one of my closest friends, and I will _always_ love you for that, if nothing else. I'm just also kind of _in love_ with you, too."

The look Eliot gives him at that is so soft, so full of - Quentin can admit it - love, that his breath catches in his throat. Eliot reaches up, tucks an errant strand of hair behind Quentin's ear, touches his face. "Oh, my beautiful, brave Q," he murmurs. "I love you, too."

"Good," Quentin whispers, the arm around Eliot's waist tightening. "Now will you _please_ kiss me when there isn't sex in our immediate future?"

Eliot's laughing when he pulls Quentin down on top of him and presses their lips together.


End file.
